A House Of Cards A Mile High
by paper-rose16
Summary: 5x22 Coda. They'll break your mind long before they break your body, Lucifer says, and when boredom is your worst enemy, you'll do anything to keep sane. This is how brothers survive in Hell.


**Disclaimer:** Supernatural is the baby and property of Eric Kripke, no matter how much I may wish otherwise.

**A/N:** This started out as an attempt at humour, even bordering on crack (and I think it still kind of is), but apparently all I can write is angst no matter how hard I tried to tame this. It was also meant to focus more on the Michael/Lucifer dynamic, which didn't happen either. Oops!

**A House Of Cards A Mile High

* * *

**

They fall, for all intents and purposes, for an eternity.

They see the blinding light following them, feel the very air and substance of their destination pulling them, and they know. They know what's happened.

They don't need to see the ground close up above them. It has, though, and they know.

They hear more than feel the ripping, shredding, tearing that signifies the separation of angel from vessel and they know, somehow, that two has become four. Yet still they fall.

* * *

They reach the bottom and Lucifer wasn't joking at all when he said he burned rather cold. They rush into the icy water feet first and splutter to the surface gasping, everything below their waists submerged, and it freezes immediately around them so that they are stuck and shivering and Lucifer laughs. He laughs and he laughs and he laughs.

* * *

Michael is the first of them to scream, and he does not stop for an eternity.

He calls to his dead-beat dad and his stuck up brothers and every holy figure ever known to be and he never receives an answer, not one; and when he finally starts to cry, the tears turning into crystalline globules of ice on his face before they have a chance to fall, the rest of them start.

And they scream and they scream; and the Devil laughs.

* * *

"This is what you've got to understand," Lucifer says complacently. In the background, Michael screams. "They'll break your mind long before they break your body."

He sounds like an eager teacher regaling his class and Sam rolls his eyes. "Why don't you shut up?"

Adam hasn't said a single word since the ripping, shredding, tearing, freezing, but now he snorts as he stares at the ice settled about his waist. It's a sad, lunatic sound.

"All I'm saying," Lucifer answers, "Is that if you can't keep your calm, you'll go mad really, really fast. I should know, shouldn't I?"

Michael screams and Lucifer looks over at his elder brother with a dignified, I-told-you-so sort of smile.

* * *

While Michael slowly transforms into a weak, quivering mess, the rest of them remain much the same.

"He's a bit pathetic, isn't he," Adam comments. Sam laughs, because let no one ever doubt for a second that one of John's boys, whether hunter or not, is perfectly capable of making light of a situation which should have had him dropping to his knees, waving the white flag of surrender.

The angel in question gains just enough self-control to shoot the boy a contemptuous glare. "And you are touched in the head."

"Nah," Adam says, "Just calm; calm and sane. That's what _I _was aiming for, how 'bout you?"

Michael growls irritably. He drops his head and continues to mutter another prayer under his breath.

"He's always been a bit touched," Lucifer says. "Ever since that locust incident in Fifth Century Rome, I think."

"What?" demands Sam tiredly. He's been saying things tiredly a lot these days.

Lucifer ignores him. "Oh, but that was nothing compared to the bat incident in Brazil. I thought he was gone for sure then. Remember the bats, Mikey?"

Michael groans. Adam shifts his body as much as he physically can and stretches his head far to one side so that his neck can produce the desired satisfying _crack_. "I don't even want to know."

* * *

The thing about standing in ice is that eventually, you go numb. It's a blessing, really, Sam's not arguing the point, but his brother's tales about Downstairs always left him with the pretence that his time there wouldn't leave much room for thought what with feeling like he was on fire and all that.

And once the surprise leaves and the cold sets in, he wonders if he wouldn't have preferred to burn.

Sometimes, they have visitors. Usually these are upper level demons, ones that in another lifetime Sam and Dean sent back here, and who have now come to view Hell's Zoo's newest exhibit. Mostly they focus on Sam, occasionally on Michael, rarely Adam; but every last one of them never fails to leave until after they've delivered their version of condolences to their king.

Lucifer takes it all in stride, and Sam almost wishes that he didn't finally understand _why_ the fallen angel was such an egotistical prick.

Boredom is their worst enemy and days, weeks, years later, he strikes up a conversation just for the ... well, just because. Beside them, Lucifer and Michael are squabbling again. "Hey, Adam, look ..."

The youngest brother shakes his head. "No, Sam, don't bother."

"No, just hear me out. You should never have been a part of this. I'm sor –"

"Don't, Sam. Just ... If you ... If you say you're sorry, so help me I'll punch your face out, and you know you can't move out of the way. Not here."

They stare at each other for a long time; Sam never noticed before, but Adam has Dean's eyes. He can't think of anything to say other than a very lame "Okay."

"Okay," Adam repeats; he sounds like Dean too. "And let's get another thing straight: you can't be sorry for getting me into this, because you didn't. Got that? _I_ said yes to Michael, _I_ listened to the angels, and the whole time you and Dean were telling them to stick it where the sun don't shine and doing what I should have done all along. So don't you do that; don't you make my sacrifice into nothing because you're _sorry_."

Sam nods. "Sorr – I mean ... right. You're right."

"You know what I'd really like to figure out?" Adam smirks and, like magic, the rest is forgotten. "What the hell we're gonna do now."

* * *

"There's nothing like an afternoon of ice skating for some brotherly bonding time."

"Yeah, all we need are the skates." Languidly, Sam shuffles the deck of cards he's holding – Bela had brought them by the day before, because apparently demons enjoy a good poker match whenever greed is running low – and deals them each a hand.

"And some feeling in our legs, if it's not too much to ask," says Adam. They each hold half of the deck, and as Sam watches, he puts down his first card: an eight of Clubs. "Really? _War_, Sam? Haven't you had enough of that already?"

"Come on." Now Sam puts down his first card, a red Queen. "We don't have anything to gamble with. It was this or _Go Fish_." He picks up his winnings lazily.

"There are literally a hundred other games we could play, and _those_ are the only two you can think of? Dear God." He puts down a ten of Hearts while Sam matches it with a six of Diamonds.

"I like this version," says Sam, frowning. "There're no guns or blood involved."

"One definite upside." Adam places his next move between them. Sam follows and wins the round.

In their corner of the rink, Lucifer shrieks and shoves as Michael gets a fistful of his hair.

* * *

The rumours reach them even in this innermost and loneliest of circles of the Underworld. At first, Sam wasn't set to believe them; but not all of their sources can be lying, not when they all share the exact same story – right?

They say that an angel has been making trouble in the outer circles; that he is searching for them on orders from his Father. That the Last Winchester Standing is making trouble up above, playing House by day, killing monsters at night. And not quite as important, but interesting none-the-less: Earth time, they have only been down here seven days.

"It feels like longer," Adam mutters. His face lacks all emotion: they don't have the energy anymore to be bitter about their situation.

"Yeah," Sam agrees. He closes his eyes.

For now, it's all they need to say.

* * *

"Did Dad really take you to a baseball game for your birthday?"

"And he stayed for all of two innings before he had to leave." They're both silent for days, months, years; and then: "Why? What'd he do with you on yours?"

"Hunting never gave days off for parties."

"Man, that's crap! No kid should ever miss out on their birthday no matter how screwed up the world is."

"Yeah, well, story of my life." Sam scowls before one corner of his mouth quirks up teasingly. "So ... Kristy McGee, huh?"

Adam grins happily. "Kristy McGee."

"You know ..." Sam begins slowly. "I've been up there, too – in Heaven. Dean and I both have."

"What were your memories of?"

Sam's smile flickers and then fades away completely. "Failures."

* * *

Adam's been building a house of cards on the ice – although, _trying to_ may be a more apt description to explain the stubborn way in which the flimsy rectangles will hold for only a few seconds before they collapse against each other. He'll get one or two sets to stand, maybe three if he's lucky, before one will slip and likewise bring the rest of them tumbling. The surface of their prison is more rough than smooth; and Sam watches with interest for a while, but he still thinks that the whole attempt is inevitably doomed.

But this time, Adam's miraculously managed to set up seven pairs, lined up in a long crooked row like a gathering of tiny arctic huts. He cautiously lays one face down along the top of the line, forming a roof; and then his little finger catches the side of one of the cards, and brings the entire structure crumbling down. "Dammit," he exclaims.

Sam picks up a card that has slid within arm's reach of him, and it's a Jack, black, that hero of legends and myths. He thinks how their lives (afterlives?) now are like Adam's house of cards – fragile, unsteady, ready to fail. They can never stand alone; they need the support of all the other cards beside them. And when one falls, so do the rest.

* * *

It happens on a day like all the others. Sam is singing – quite badly – the chorus to Led Zeppelin's _Ramble On_ and Adam is painstakingly carving his initials into the ice near his right rib with a zipper pull – the cards are tucked securely into Sam's jacket pocket, at least for now – when the voices of their two companions start up once again.

"Stop it, Lucifer," Michael snaps, turning his head around to face his brother from where it'd previously been fixed on the cliff wall.

"Stop what?" Satan answers lazily back.

"You know what!"

"If I did then I wouldn't have to ask, Michael."

"Stop _staring at me_!"

"I'm only trying to figure it out," There's a brief silence, "Why nobody realized before, I mean."

Michael takes the bait, and Adam meets Sam's eye with an exasperated sigh. Lucifer looks smug.

"That you were a girl," he concludes. "Dad really should have called you Michaela."

Michael growls low in his throat. "When I get out of here," he hisses, "You better watch your back, _Lucy_."

"Tell me he didn't," whispers Adam, horrified. They have witnessed hundreds of fights like this one lately, and it never ends well.

Sam cringes as Lucifer's strong arm strikes unerringly at his target. "He did."

* * *

In the few minutes since it started, the atmosphere surrounding the quarrel has deteriorated surprisingly fast. Sam and Adam have joined in, attempting to hold the other brothers off one another. Sam is restraining Michael's arms at his elbows, preventing him from swinging at Lucifer, whom Adam is unsuccessfully trying to keep from retaliating by gripping him in an iron-hard headlock. None of them notice at first the dark figure that's materialized behind them.

"If this is what I have to look forward to at their age, than it would please me never to become so old," the newcomer observes dryly.

"Cas?" Sam is so stunned to see his friend, whom last he'd heard was dead (blown to pieces, Lucifer had cheerfully put it) that he lets go of his captive, who subsequently flies at his brother, just as Adam does the same. He only barely succeeds in avoiding the jab to the gut that's thrown his way.

Castiel smiles as he studies them quietly. "It's time to go," he states, and grabs Sam and Adam's shoulders. He catches where Adam's eyes have drifted over to Michael and Lucifer, oblivious and swatting and prodding each other childishly, and he adds, "They are to be left down here for a while longer. A 'Time Out' I think my Father called it."

"Where are you taking us?"

As soon as it slips out, Sam realizes that he already knows. Cas will drop him back off on Earth before airlifting Adam into Heaven, where he belongs, and they will go back to their old day jobs. He's going to miss Adam terribly: they formed a special bond here and that won't be forgotten; but he hasn't finished what he's meant to do yet. Maybe one day they'll cross paths again, this time at the right time, and they can pick up where they left off. Right now though, Adam needs his mom and Dean needs Sam, so they'll be just fine.

When he grips them, the ice around their waists burns hot and then thaws enough for the two of them to slip through. Soon they're flying and leaving the other two behind. There's a light opening above them. Sam reaches into his breast pocket and withdraws the deck of cards. As much as they'd kept him and Adam from insanity in the pit, neither of them needs them anymore. Without thinking twice, he drops them, and they rain down upon the angels' down-turned heads, fluttering and spinning and flipping through the air.

_Fifty-two Pick-Up_.

He looks down even as Castiel takes them ever higher, Michael and Lucifer shrinking into tiny specks far below. Sam has a feeling that they'll be bickering down there for a while.

* * *

**_The End_**


End file.
